


smoke on the mountain

by elijah_was_a_prophet



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Politics, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijah_was_a_prophet/pseuds/elijah_was_a_prophet
Summary: Maneuvering, a local specialty.
Relationships: Emperor/His Favorite Concubine
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fic In A Box





	smoke on the mountain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitsunerei88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunerei88/gifts).



In the empire of Barzillai, the smallest of the Twelve Hothouse Kingdoms, there was the sea and there were the hills. After the conquests of emperor Chandrash III the interior of the Western Continent had been given over mostly to Diblah, meaning that Barzillai was 300 road-lengths wide at its largest and a mere 25 at the point where it tapered off at the edge point of the Kela Cliffs. The hills of Barzillai were not to be confused with the massive Midrash mountain range which loomed to the north nor the gently waving western plains of Diblah, which began at the River Hira- a natural border between the two kingdoms established by the 932 Five Armies Treaty. These events were crucial in what happened over the following years- the ascension of the Lofty Council on the Midrash Plateau, civil war in the hot jungles of Myamu and Dambo to the east, and the coup in Barzillai of the Emperor Amaruz over his traitor uncle Armon.

All this history sat heavily on Nema Amaruziv, who in 947 sat in the walled gardens of the capital at Rangluam with the emperor and watched him compose a letter to Chandrash III while one of the palace cats played with his previous draft attempts.

“You know they say he’s illiterate,” she said, picking up one of the crumpled letters and tossing it. “It might not matter all that much if your verse is a bit lopsided. And the translation into Diblan always make it sound so clunky.”

“Chandrash’s translator is from Cian Bo; even if the emperor doesn’t understand it his readers will, and they’ll bring that home to their rulers. An educated ruler is respected down there, all the way to the Coral Archipelago.”

“A female ruler is even more. That’s why you send Ambassador Shiki.”

“She also speaks six of their twelve languages. It’s an educated decision.”

He crumpled up another draft, then sighed and put his head in her lap. She rubbed his head, black hair cut close so it wouldn’t tangle in the official headgear of state, and unbuttoned the back of his high collar. It was another hot day in Rangluam and the sea breeze hadn’t picked up in several days to chase the lingering heat away. His neck was damp and she dried it with a handful of her skirt.

“Next neap tide we’re going to the cave pools,” Nema said. “You’re overheated all the time and it’s not good for your brain.”

“I’m acting as a member of my station,” he protested, but didn’t protest when she opened the back of his formal outermost shirt. While beautiful, the thickness of cloth needed to support Chitta embroidery was more practical in the hills than the sea. By contrast Nema wore a light ankle-length shirt with a strapless stretch of cloth tied around her breasts. Moraway clothing, unpopular at court due to its lower class connotations and lower cost. She felt like being sweaty all the time wasn’t a good enough trade-off just to appeal to snobs and wear padded cashmere.

“I guess I can spare a few days,” Amaruz said when he sat up and grabbed another length of paper.

“The last few days you’ll have before the hill chieftains come down for the council.”

“Damn! I’d nearly forgotten the date was earlier this year.”

“Your aunt said she’d behave.”

The aunt she referred to was aunt Mela, wife of the Traitor King who took his own brother’s life in an attempt to take exclusive control of the tribes and the throne. While she knew perfectly well that her husband had broken taboos punishable by death, she still protested every year about letting a murderer run the county.

“My aunt also said my father’s death was unknown to her before the initial announcement. She is a consummate liar when necessary.”

“Then you should take me. As someone not familiar with Chittan, any blunt comments would be mere language mistakes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“The second child of a sixth child has to find power somehow.”

The second child of a sixth child also should have never been an emperor’s most beloved concubine. He had a wife, of course, a girl from one of the other hill tribes, but taking on local lovers was quite traditional. It was a great honor to whichever Moraway house the emperor consort was selected from. It played in Nema’s mind often, the face her house’s Eldest Father and Eldest Daughter had made when Amaruz asked for her in his palace.

And there she went, despite their protests, sitting in the best concubine’s chambers and combing her hair out into braids for the evening’s formal dinner. She had ten braids covered with a round cap for the ten houses, a triangular top with her house crest, a long skirt in her family rank’s colors, and enough jewelry to make walking quietly impossible. From her chambers she made the back staircase walk down to the largest hall, mixing with the servants who were busy running place settings and extra chairs up and down.

“You’ll be on the terrace tonight,” one of the guards said when Nema walked up. This guard was familiar, as he also served as the empress consort; keeping him nearby was Amaruz’s way of signifying his knowledge and approval of his wife taking a lover. Nema nodded to him and took her place at a corner of the entertainer’s table where the musicians and dancers sat before they were called upon. They tended to be plugged into court politics, and so made good sources of information.

“Evening,” said the zither player Rana. She’d been teaching Nema how to play hill style, since that was Amaruz’s favorite sound.

“Evening to you as well. Have you heard who will be attending tonight?”

“A member of the Lofty Council seeking your beloved’s support,” said a dancer. “There is a crisis of power in the Hothouse, and all are vying to solve it.”

That’d be something to watch. She settled and observed the procession of the royalty who kept company in the capitol instead of their hillside palaces. The emperor came last, so that everyone could watch him proceed. He was handsome, certainly, and Nema did first observe the glow of his brown skin and the curve of his jaw that she loved to kiss. But there was a better time and place to think about his appearance. For seated opposite him was Dai Bodze, second of the eight lofty ministers and a campaigner for war with Cian Bo.

She watched closely as the first course was set out. Dai Bodze took one sip of the spicy lemongrass soup and set it aside, looking flustered. Not used to chilis, then, and bad at concealing his reactions. Second and third courses she saw the debate between him and Amaruz turn ugly just through their facial expressions. A vein was popping out in Dai Bodze’s temple by the fourth course, when the dancers and musicians began the evening’s entertainment while plates of pudding were brought out.

Nema took the opportunity to leave her spot and head for the space formerly claimed by Amaruz’s wife. Early in the evening sitting there would have been considered a faux pas, a lover elevating herself above her station, but since the guard who the wife loved had the emperor’s full approval it would not cause too much gossip.

“Dearest,” she said when she sat down. “How long will you be?”

“It all depends on when Minister Dai lets me leave,” he replied.

“This isn’t your wife!”

“Wives are political, concubines are for love. Don’t you have a similar system among your ministers?”

“We don’t believe in mixing between stations,” the minister replied.

Nema took the opportunity to speak up. “Then how good for you, that Mola Tseng didn’t marry your sister.” She laughed at the face the minister made and stole a sip of Amaruz’s drink. Sweet but not alcoholic. He must have wanted to have his wits about him.

A stilted pause passed before Dai Bodze spoke again. “Do you have any more to say, your Excellency, or are you wanting to cavort about with your-“ he cut his eyes to the side “-madam?”

“That will be all, I think. You will have my answer tomorrow.”

True to what he’d said, Amaruz left the dinner after dismissing Dai Bodze. All the way back to his rooms he qas quiet, but as soon as they made it behind closed doors he tackled her to the bed.

“You’re not supposed to mouth off at my guests,” he complained. There was no heat to it, and Nema easily flipped him over with her height and weight advantage.

“He was being rude about me, if you didn’t notice, and I only responded in kind. You’d already pissed him off anyways.”

“Me?”

“I watched his face the entire dinner. He was quite upset.”

Amaruz rubbed his face with his hands and sighed, head flopping back on the bed. “He wanted us to join him and his puppet government in Myamu in fighting Cian Bo, trying to claim the Coral Archipelago. Their reasoning is that the Myamu diaspora on Red Coral One entitles them to possession by blood. I responded by pointing out that most of that diaspora consider themselves Cian Bo by birth and have never organized a separatist movement, but you know how that kind of man is.”

“Convinced he’s right.”

“Exactly.”

“And so now-?”

“I’ll have to tell him no. We don’t have the resources, and antagonizing Cian Bo would be suicide. Their junks cross every single trade route around the Banga Peninsula.” He took a few of her bracelets from her wrist. “See, if this jade one is us, and the red topaz is Diblah, and then here’s Banga split between Myamu and Raffi, then Cian Bo is everything beneath.”

“And through the White Coral Two Strait is where all our ships to the Southern Plate go. I see.” She’d known that before he explained it but knew he thought better if he talked through things first.

He smiled. “Maybe you should be my advisor. A few of the ones I have now are hopeless. Basic geography seems to escape Sulman, and yet he’s aiming to be Minister of Economy over Prival.”

“I don’t feel suited to that kind of work,” Nema said. People tended to notice what you were doing when you were there in an official capacity instead of serving as just an accessory to power.

She put her bracelets back on but untied her top and laid it aside. In private she preferred to go shirtless, which was typical for the net-pullers and waders of her house. Amaruz asked her to do it in the first week she’d spent there, whenever she felt comfortable. Nothing made her feel more attractive than seeing her reflection from the back, smooth dark skin and the uninterrupted line of her spine from her skull down to between the dimples at the back of her hips. She rolled over on the bed, arched her back and cupped her own breasts just to see how they looked.

“You’re gorgeous,” Amaruz said. “And I like that you know it.” He crawled over and kissed her, forearms bracketing her face and pinning her down by the hair.

“When this is over,” she said. “You need to sleep before you turn down the Lofty Council’s war, so you’ll know what to tell the chieftains who demand war at all costs.”

He sighed but acquiesced, flipping off the lights and settling the bug netting around the bed while she pulled off her jewelry and let down her hair. On nights like this when she knew he’d get lonely she chose to sleep in his rooms as a comfort, so that when he awoke from a dream where negotiations had gone so poorly they were entering war she could stroke his hair and assure him that things were not yet so bad.

“But they could get bad,” he whispered to her. “There’s so much tension right now I can feel it. The Banga Peninsula is teetering on revolt to overthrow the puppet governments, and the Cian Bo have been moving around into the Bay of Temuju since last week.”

“Shh. Think about it in the morning.”

In the morning, however, they were awoken before the dawn by one of the palace messengers carrying a lantern.

“The Chief Ganoch is here to see you.”

“Now?”

“He insists that it’s urgent. And he’s brought the Chief Ramam with him.”

“Shit. Nema, come with me. I need a witness in case they try to engage in subterfuge again.”

She pulled on one of his coats and walked quickly down the stairs and into one of the meeting rooms, where Chief Ganoch and Chief Ramam sat. Each were dressed in full regalia, with tall pointed hats and their staff of office. Amaruz was still in pajamas.

“This is unexpected,” he said as he sat in front of the two men. “I had been previously informed that our meeting was to be held in two weeks’ time.”

“We move for war, Amaruz,” Chief Ganoch said. “The Minister Dai Bodze has promised us control of the three sea passageways our exports take, and a land route that doesn’t rely on the goodwill of Chandrash III, may he rot and die.”

Amaruz froze. “Honorable Chiefs, I was going to tell Minister Dai today that we will not be joining on his crusade. There is no benefit in angering Cian Bo, and the forces in Myamu he seeks to send into war are not loyal to him. Aligning with a puppet government would be a mistake.”

“You’re going to turn down his alliance without asking us? How sly of you.” Chief Ramam leaned back in his chair and tilted his chin up. “I am reminded of your uncle.”

The insult hung in the air. Chief Ramam, the youngest of the three leaders, would not have even been in power during the years of the Traitor King. For him to invoke such a terrible name, and in reference to the murderer of Amaruz’s father, was a step too far for his rank.

“Only the Emperor can declare an act of war, and I will not. Move to make war and I will declare your province in rebellion. Compare me to my uncle again and I will have you put out so the men can discuss war uninterrupted.”

Nema felt quite uncomfortable when the two chiefs looked over at her. Due to the male-exclusive inheritance system in the hills women were allowed to freely leave and enter meetings as they pleased, the assumption being that without political power there wouldn’t be much they could do with what they overheard. Multiple coups had been organized from that freedom, but the tradition persisted as traditions often did. She was grateful for it when the two chiefs decided to ignore her again and returned to arguing with Amaruz. It didn’t help her observational job to be noticed.

“We have to pay taxes on all of our goods going to the Southern Plate, since the three straits the Cian Bo control are the only safe spots to cross through the Warm Sea. Chandrash III will not allow us to cross the River Hira, as he has made the entire border a dead zone of guards and fences.” Chief Ganoch thumped his staff down between every sentence, temper flaring.

“Then use the trading post at the northern point of Myamu.”

“They don’t accept anything but commodities as payments, and the rates to transport goods down to Temuju Bay are higher than how much they’d sell for once they got there. Minister Dai offered us access to the federal postal system and tax free sea transport.”

“And how will he give you your tax free shipping lanes? Asking the Cian Bo politely to let everyone in and out of their country?”

“By sword. It’s all they understand down there.”

Amaruz sighed deeply. “I see no problem with the taxes. We ask for fees whenever traders from the Banga Peninsula want to track through our land on their way to the Midrash Mountains. It’s the same thing, and it helps us pay for the roads and the school system.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Then it appears we are at an impasse. I will not take Minister Dai’s offer of war. If you have nothing more to say on the matter, then you are dismissed.”

Muttering under their breath, Chief Ganoch and Chief Ramam left.

“It appears that the chiefs who want war have made an early appearance,” Nema said. She sat down beside him and felt for the knot on the back of his left shoulder, which always grew more prominent when he was stressed. “Get ready for that at the next council meeting.”

“I know,” he groaned. “Chief Ramam’s father was so much more reasonable. Now his son acts like a man who’s got something to prove.”

“Are taxes through the straits that bad?”

“Not really. The cost isn’t just the taxes, though- there’s very few Chittan who are wiling to go to sea, and so they have to hire Moraway sailors and ships to export. It cuts into their margins. And to get to the Southern Plate through the Thousand Isles usually takes a Cian Bo navigator on top of that.” He stood, tugging on her hand. “I need something to eat before I turn Dai Bodze down. And the letter to Chandrash III isn’t done. Damn!”

“It sounds like the chiefs are more annoyed that they have to rely on contractors than at the taxes.”

“Ah, you might be right there. There’s too much history to get into right now-“ he stopped for a second to check the letters box outside his formal office, taking out a stack, “-but Chief Ganoch and Chief Ramam both come from provinces with a long history of demanding independence. And in the War of Five Armies they both lost grazing territory.”

“Which is why they want Chandrash III to rot.”

“Yes! No matter how often I tell them that he’s old and that Chandrash IV will be much more willing to hear compromise. They don’t even herd animals in Diblah, aside from water buffalo in the flooded lowlands. So it’s not impossible.”

They turned into the kitchen and got breakfast from one of the cooks, Nema eating at her table on the side while Amaruz paced and read his letters. An acknowledgement of his invitation to council from the hill tribes, the announcement of the Lofty Council’s election, and then, at the bottom, a letter from Ambassador Shiki.

“She wasn’t supposed to write yet,” he said. The clock bell atop the palace clanged and he swore. “I’ve got to refuse the Minister. Can you-?”

“I’ll take them to your office,” Nema said, gathering the letters.

He dashed off and she made her slow way back, first stopping by her rooms for a change of clothes and then continuing to his office to sort all the mail. This was the part of her installation in the palace that nobody saw, her job as his confidant and secretary. She loved finding out about diplomatic relations, sitting unseen in the corner before whispering in his ear her thoughts. An advisor in everything but name.

Refusing the minister would improve their relations with Cian Bo, which in turn would keep the houses of the Moraway safe. The two crossed sea-borders along the southern reaches of the Banga Peninsula, and there was frequent intermarriage- her own grandmother had been from Silver Pearl Eight Island, and had given her a tight curl in her hair and the knowledge that to understand trade was to understand the power of an empire.

Amaruz came back in, flustered, and had to sit down and have a cup of tea before he could begin talking.

“Dai Bodze had quite the fit when I told him I was rejecting his offer. Very childish. He’d make a bad leader, and when I asked him why he was going behind my back to talk to my chiefs he stormed out. I think we’ll be hearing more from that direction in the next couple of weeks.”

“But he’s the only one on the Lofty Council arguing for a takeover of Cian Bo, no?”

“I think the Third Minister would like to and from the Southern Plate to be cheaper, but not to the extent that he’d go to war for it.”

“And with the election coming up, taking such a hardline stance is a risk.”

Amaruz shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Not if they want to maintain stability in the Banga Peninsula. If they go to war with Cian Bo using their puppet government’s forces, the people will only tolerate war for so long. Six months, maybe. But once the war starts to stretch they’ll begin to protest. And a people aware that they can change their government are dangerous indeed.”

“Only Myamu has a puppet government.”

“And Dambo has a tyrant in sway to the Lofty Council. The waves are riding west, dear. Someday the entire peninsula will be alight, and you will have made a choice. They look to you over there when they consider their own traitors and tyrants.” She finished by pouring herself a cup of tea, tipping her chair back and looking at him over the edge of her cup. She knew she was right.

He looked at the letter from Ambassador Shiki, grabbed the envelope and examined the edge. “You read it.”

“You should too.”

Tearing it open again, he looked at the short note inside. “Civil war? The Cian Bo fleet?”

“Six of their queens. All the ones she asked in their language. You did request that she make an impression when she spoke of you.” Nema held Amaruz’s head in her hands and rubbed his temples. “It’s part of a good plan and things will end well. I’ve watched it happen.”

“You made it happen.”

“Me?”

It was an act, since she knew what he meant. All of her whispering in his ear hadn’t been for nothing, and he knew that sometimes it was better to listen to someone who’d been dealing with the islands to the south and known their women than to try and fight the tide.

He nodded, looking up at her from between her hands. “I didn’t think about the sea so much before I met you, or Cian Bo. We usually say yes to the Lofty Council. Things like that. When the War of Five Armies happened, people like Chief Ganoch were so shocked that anyone from south of Myamu would come up into the hills that they didn’t know what to do. There’s only one lake in all of the hill districts, right there, and they have to rely on the Cian Bo to go across the sea. You talked about boats and the Jewel West of the West as if they were things everyone knew about. So we all had to learn, and then know why Cian Bo would never bend.”

She thought about it for a minute. “Did you pick me because I knew about those things?”

“I thought it’d be good to have someone close who knew about them, yes. Even the emperors before me who’d had concubines from the houses- they didn’t understand the house system! It was shocking to me. And if I could have you as my advisor I would, for that reason.”

“I am your advisor. Just not in name.”

He settled down in his chair and she climbed onto him, sitting in his lap and curling her body around the top of his head. It felt good to her to be needed, wanted, respected. He picked her because not even the kingdom of Barzillai could conquer the ocean on its own, and she felt that for a second child of a sixth child that was well enough.


End file.
